The Unending
by arainymonday
Summary: Ginny experiences the misery of poverty first hand and the effects it has on the human psyche. Part of her mind, possessed by Voldemort, revels in the despair it causes, while the rest of her mourns for families that will never be as rich as the Weasleys.


******Disclaimer:** I'm just playing in the Harry Potter sandbox. If you recognize it from elsewhere, I don't own it.**  
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**Author's Note: **This story was written in response to AloneintheDark's excellent challenge: For A Cause. I believe that all artists, professional or amateur, have a responsibility to use their craft for the good of society. I was thrilled to see this challenge on HPFF.

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**The Unending**

**Part One: The ****Weasley**** Family**

The sweet scent of rain hung in the air while dark clouds raced across the sky, bathing the town in early twilight. In the distance, people on the street darted to and fro like so many human raindrops scattering across the pavement. Shadows danced on the earth, mimicking patterns of the shifting clouds overhead.

One young girl stayed where she stood. Eyes closed, hair billowing in the gusty wind. Her arms stretched out, palms up, welcoming the deluge about to issue from the heavens. _This is beautiful_, she thought, elated and exhilarated. There was nothing in the world as moving as an oncoming storm.

The hammer of Thor rumbled overhead as the first drop of rain hit the girl on the forehead, as if anointing her to some high purpose. A smile spread across her lips, and she breathed in deeply again. _Just one more second_, she told herself. Then, the sky opened and curtains of rain poured onto the village of Ottery St. Catchpole.

Ginny Weasley laughed, but her voice was carried off by the howling wind. She laughed and laughed, giddy with the scent and the sound and the feeling of heavy raindrops pounding against her face. She ran in circles, she jumped up and down, she spun around and around. And then the storm moved on, dragging the blanket of rain onto the next town and the next little girl.

Ginny was left alone, without the friendship of the rain. She was soaked to the skin and shivering her excitement. Her flaming red hair was plastered to her head and great droplets clung to her eyelashes. She stretched out her palms again, inviting the storm to return and play with her some more.

"What's wrong with you?" a voice called.

The little girl turned around. The voice belonged to her brother, Ron. His face was pressed between the door and the jamb. Cascades of rain roared over the troughs of the Burrow, and Ron flinched, trying to stay out of the waterfall and still look at his sister.

"You're not supposed to stay outside in the rain, you know. You want to come indoors," Ron said, as if speaking to a very stupid child.

Ginny splashed through the mud, making sure to jump heavily onto the steps and splatter Ron's clothes before she shoved the door open and bounded inside. Ron made a noise in the back of his throat as he looked Ginny up and down.

"Well, come on, take your shoes off, Ginny."

As the girl removed her muddy shoes, then her waterlogged socks, and her heavy cloak, Ron took each one in his arms. He looked at her sundress dripping water onto the floor and her tangled hair.

"Go change into something dry, then bring those clothes to me."

As Ginny rushed past him, she grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled herself onto her tip-toes. She planted a firm kiss on his cheek, and Ron returned her affection by hugging her around the middle.

"Hurry up, before Mum sees," Ron urged, a smile pulling up one side of his mouth.

While Ginny hurried to her room and rummaged through her wardrobe for something dry and comfortable to wear in the height of summer, her older brother climbed into the attic room. Ron knocked once and heard a voice telling him to enter.

"Oh, Ron," Charlie said, going as scarlet as his hair and pushing some parchment under his mattress. "I thought you weren't speaking to me."

The younger boy shifted awkwardly. "I wasn't. I mean, I'm not. Except that I am right now. Dry these."

Ron held out Ginny's discarded items. Charlie, who looked like he wanted to make fun of his little brother, saw that the clothing belonged to Ginny. Instead of laughing at Ron, he laughed at Ginny.

"Not again," Charlie said, taking the clothes. "All right. Watch the stairs. Any sign of Mum, and you tell me right away, Ron."

Charlie retreated to the far side of his bedroom and pushed_ Standard Book of Spells Grade 5_ off his bed to take a seat. Very carefully, and doing just what Professor Flitwick had taught him last year, Charlie made hot air blow out the end of his wand. Ginny's clothes weren't perfectly dry, but dry enough for Mum to think Ginny had run inside when it started to rain.

"Again?" Bill asked, sticking his head into Charlie's room. "I saw Ron guarding the stairs. Thought that might mean you were doing illegal magic."

"For Ginny," Charlie smiled. "I suppose you could have done it legally now."

Bill waved off his little brother's guilty look. "Nah, I've done that loads of times. You need the practice more than me. Besides," Bill grinned, "Fred and George asked me three times already this summer to keep Ginny out of trouble."

Ron darted back into the room, face pale and skin clammy. He didn't need to say anything, Bill and Charlie knew that meant Mum would entering Ginny's room at any moment to make sure their little sister hadn't been dancing in the rain again.

"So much work to keep her out trouble," Bill said, smiling.

He grabbed the clothes from Charlie, and with a crack, Apparated into Ginny's room. He was back next moment, laughing the moment he was on Charlie's bed.

"I got out just before Mum opened the door! Knob was turning and everything!"

"Cutting it a bit close, weren't you, Bill?" Ron demanded, a scowl appearing on his young face. "That would have really got Ginny in trouble."

Bill and Charlie exchanged knowing looks. It was Charlie who passed the sage advice onto his youngest brother.

"You'll learn at Hogwarts, Ron, that there is nothing in life but close calls. You just have to hope that you've got your guts and friends to get you through."

Ginny jumped into the room a moment later. These days, she had taken to pushing open a door, then leaping across the threshold. Fred and George had told her it was bad luck to walk through a door, and despite all of Percy's assurances that it was not, Ginny continued jumping around the house. It was driving Mum mad, but Dad thought it was great fun. When he was home, he insisted on jumping through doorways too.

"Thanks," Ginny said.

Like a red fireball, she lunged onto Charlie's bed and began springing up and down. In compensation for having the room under the ghoul, Charlie had been given the best bed. It was the sturdiest in the house. Ginny had realized this within a day of it being delivered to the Burrow. She bothered Charlie for hours on end by jumping on his bed.

"No, Ginny! There are too many people!" Bill laughed.

The only Weasley girl would not stop. She bounced up and down, up and down, knocking Ron off the bed. Bill and Charlie guffawed and tried to help him up, but went sailing headlong off the bed when Ginny landed particularly hard.

"We heard a racket," Fred said, jumping through the doorway.

"And thought it might be Ginny," George added, also leaping into the room.

Within minutes, the twins were on the bed with Ginny, taking it in turns to tickle her or swing her around. Bill and Charlie lay on the floor, laughing so hard their faces were bright red. Ron, jealous of his siblings' fun, joined them. Percy had just entered the room to see what all the fuss was about, when the bed, frame, springs, and all, collapsed under the combined weight of four children.

A bedpost hit Percy in the head, and he fell to the ground. At first, he was dazed, but soon enough he began to belly laugh. Only the sounds of their mother's footsteps on the stairs brought them back to their senses.

Bill, Charlie, and Percy pulled out their wands. How much he could help, Percy wasn't sure, but he'd had one year of classes. Maybe he had learned something that would help Bill and Charlie fix the bed.

Fred, George, Ron, and Ginny scrambled off the demolished furniture and out of the way. In no time, the oldest Wealseys had fixed the bed. Charlie had put one leg on upside down, and Percy had lost his head completely and turned the mattress to stone, but the comforter hid that fact for the moment. Bill had done most of the work, and although it wasn't perfect, it would probably stand up to their mother's scrutiny.

"What in the world?" Molly Weasley asked, looking at her children.

When all seven of them were in the smallest bedroom in the house, some sort of mischief had just taken place, she knew that much. Percy slipped his wand behind his back only a second too late. A closer inspection of Charlie's bed revealed some interesting construction. She knew what had happened in a moment. Fred and George looked gleeful, Ron glanced worriedly at Ginny, and the youngest child beamed excitedly: definite signs of mischief.

"I'm making dinner. Behave yourself while I have a cake in the oven."

Seven faces lit up with genuine joy. The word "cake" had that effect on the Weasleys. Molly smiled and left Charlie's bedroom. The broken bed had been mended, so there was no permanent damage. She'd send Arthur up later, though, to make sure it wouldn't collapse on her second-oldest child while he slept.

She wasn't surprised to hear the uproarious laughter issuing from the room a second later. They really thought they'd gotten away with something. And maybe they had, Molly thought. Her mother certainly wouldn't have let jumping on the bed go unpunished. Molly stopped dead at the foot of the stairs. A large puddle of rainwater had formed in the foyer.

"Probably Ron," Arthur said from the table. "If Percy had found her playing in the rain, he'd have thought to mop it up."

"I imagine he was too worried about getting Bill to dry her clothes," Molly answered, approaching the oven.

"Did they break the bed again?" her husband asked from behind the _Evening Prophet_.

"Oh, I should say they did."

Molly and Arthur looked up. From overhead, the distinctive sounds of Ginny's shrieking as her brothers started a game of hide-and-seek were coming from the attic. They went back to their tasks, smiling a bit more than a moment ago.

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**Part Two: The Johnston Family**

Ginny Weasley took a deep breath before mounting the steps to Number 23. She had been called to this building before, and she didn't like it one bit. She always had to be so careful here where there were children lurking around every corner. The last time she'd been to Number 23, half the Obliviation Squad had to be called out to clean up the mess.

She wore her most casual Muggle clothes, something she didn't often wear anymore now that she was out of Hogwarts and had a real job. Tonks had suggested ripped jeans and a t-shirt with a Muggle band on it for this part of London. Happy to take her friend's advice, Ginny was uncomfortable in a pair of tattered blue jeans and a Led Zeppelin shirt. She had nowhere to hide her wand except up her sleeve, and that was as inconvenient as could be.

A strong wind was blowing from the west and flat droplets of water had begun to splatter on the pavement. Ginny paused halfway up the steps to tie her red hair up in a ponytail. The last thing she needed was another disaster like last time because her hair got in the way. Zacharias Smith was a great git and he would never let her live down a second blunder, especially if it was his Obliviation Unit clearing up after Ginny.

_Come on, Ginny_, she told herself. _You're a Gryffindor for Merlin's sake. Just go inside!_

But she couldn't make herself. Not just yet. Ginny knew what was waiting inside. It didn't cause her fear, so much as unimaginable heartache. She was horrified of facing that amount of pain again. It seeped through the walls and clogged the air, staining all that walked inside with misery and despair.

Ginny had faced a horde of Dementors before, only a few years ago, in fact. She could handle that. She was perfectly fine fighting against the memory of Tom Riddle and what he had made her do. She pushed down the image of Harry dying, a basilisk fang in his arm. All of that she could triumph. But not this.

Rain began to fall in earnest and black clouds rolled overhead. Ginny ducked under the cover of the porch, the need to stay out of the rain driving her that much closer to the front door. Ron was going to pay for this. He was really, really going to pay. He was probably at the Ministry right now, sitting in his cushy office, wondering why it was taking her so long to report back.

Well, no, he wasn't. Ginny knew that. Ron was most likely roaming around the Department, checking in on every project and facing the same battle she was. There were some rooms people just did not want to enter. Only two rooms really terrified Ginny—the Death Chamber and the one that she was on assignment for now.

_Excuse me, Miss __Weasley__. Ginny, is it? _

Ginny closed her eyes and shook her head. Patterson Vaire's voice always rang through her head at moments like these.

_I'm with the Ministry of Magic. Doing a little recruiting, you might say, for a Department that doesn't take applications._

She often wondered why she hadn't lied and told him she wanted to become an Auror. It would have made her life a lot simpler. When Tonks told Ginny about what she was doing, Ginny almost regretted not taking the easy route and becoming an Auror.

_Heard you've had some interesting adventures. With Harry Potter, I mean, of course. We think you'd be perfect for a job in our Department. Your brother, Ron, has only excellent things to say about you. _

Patterson had a point. There were no better Unspeakables in the whole world than Ron and Ginny Weasley. But even the best Unspeakables have to fight against their demons from time to time. Ron did so every time he walked into the Room of Thoughts and saw the swimming brains.

Ginny raised her hand slowly and pulled open the screen door. Spray from the rain washed over her sneakers and sprinkled the grimy tile entrance of Number 23. A wave of sadness nearly knocked Ginny off her feet. It was a feeling so foreign to her, and yet distantly familiar to her mind, entering this building made her want to flee and fight at exactly the same moment.

A separate memory seemed to dwell in the darkest corner of her mind, a kind of repression of rage that boiled beneath the surface. Ginny called it Tom Riddle, and she knew that it had not existed before he possessed her. The remnants of that year with Tom Riddle welcomed the dread and despair chocking the air, while the rest of Ginny wanted to fall to knees and cry for all the pain.

"You again," said a harsh, Cockney voice. "What? You going to say you ain't remember who I am?"

Ginny swallowed thickly. The presence of another person, and a Muggle at that, put her on her guard again. Ron had asked her to come because Ginny was the only person he knew he could trust to get the job done.

"Hello, Rebecca," Ginny said. "I came by to have another chat with Mrs. Johnston."

The young girl called Rebecca, no more than five years older than Ginny, shifted the weight of a toddler on her hip. Through the open door, Ginny could see three more children playing in the flat. Two of them were twins, at least seven years old. The other was a baby still, crawling towards his sisters slowly but surely.

"Mum's not in at the moment, thank you very much. She had to work today."

"Work?" Ginny asked, impulsively.

Mrs. Johnston, Rebecca's mother, was an older woman with a bad back and a severe case of impetigo. Sometimes she worked at the grocers on the corner stocking shelves or checking out customers, but her back and legs had been doing very poorly lately. She should have been home in bed, not working.

"Yeah," Rebecca fired back. "You know, the thing you got to do to get money. Some of us, ain't got jobs let us go 'round talking to people all day. How much you get paid anyway?"

Ginny didn't bother to tell Rebecca the amount. She wouldn't have understood Ginny's salary in Galleons, Sickles, and Knuts. And worst than that, the measly sum didn't matter to Ginny. She and Harry had a whole vault full of gold at Gringott's.

"Enough," Ginny responded. "Do you know when Mrs. Johnston will be back?"

Rebecca's brow creased, and suddenly Ginny realized. The young woman was lonely. She was cooped up in a one bedroom flat all day with four children, then sat in a lonely tollbooth all night collecting a token in the Underground. She wanted someone to talk to.

"Unless you think you can continue the conversation?" Ginny offered.

The other woman pretended to be burdened by the idea, but she gave up the act too quickly for it to be real and invited Ginny into the flat.

Compared to the rest of Number 23, Flat 23F was neat and tidy. The kitchen linoleum had been ripped up in several places and yellowed plywood showed through. The refrigerator was leaking something green onto the carpet, and the kitchen table was missing a leg. The sofa in the living room dipped in the middle and there was no other furniture to speak of. The television, an ancient box with a broken picture tube, sat on the floor.

The flat was in disrepair, but there was very little that was not clean. Some Cheerios had fallen to the floor during breakfast, and the seven-year-old twins kept upending the trash can, but Rebecca dutifully cleaned up the rubbish.

Still, there was something disturbing about the flat. Something hung in the air—an uninviting aura that made the children mean to each other and put Rebecca on edge. Ginny had spotted the evil presence the moment she first entered the Johnston's home.

_Oh, we'll manage, Ginny. Don't you worry one bit_. Mum's voice said, and her beaming face appeared in Ginny's mind.

_Hang the expense, Molly, our little girl j__ust got her Hogwarts letter! It's __butterbeers__ all around at the Leaky Cauldron__ tonight_ Dad cried, sweeping Ginny into her arms.

Ginny looked away quickly, blinking the tears from her eyes.

She had thought her family was destitute until she met the Johnstons. Then it became clear to Ginny that the hand-me-down clothes, the old broomsticks, and the second hand books did not mean a family was impoverished. The Weasleys were poor, yes, but they were not living in poverty. Being poor had brought the Weasley together and gave them away to love each more. Poverty did no such thing. Poverty tore apart families and turned the most innocent into vicious shells.

Rebecca sent her youngest boy off with a gentle shove. Ginny remembered her mother doing the same thing to her when company came to the Burrow. But not a shove like that. More of a hug and then … and then Ron put his arm around her shoulder and led her upstairs.

"So, what was you talking to my mother about?" Rebecca asked.

Ginny did need to look at her notes to remember where she had left off with Mrs. Johnston. The woman had been telling her about how she came to live at Number 23. From the rough timeline Ginny had constructed, she assumed Rebecca had been a young girl when Mr. Johnston gambled away all their money.

"Your mother's life. I think that's something she should talk about, though. Can we talk about your situation?"

"Who do you say you worked for?" Rebecca asked.

She glanced sidelong at her children. Mrs. Johnston had been very adamant that if Ginny worked for social services, she was not welcomed in the flat, because Rebecca did a fine job with her children.

"I work for Parliament. I'm an intern for at the Prime Minister's office. He wants a report on poverty in London. I'm interviewing people and including what they say in my memo," Ginny lied.

In reality, she was in charge of adding these files on Muggles to the Department of Mysteries file. In all likelihood, nothing would be done to help the Johnston family or any others like them. They would just be statistics sitting in a bottom drawer.

"Right. So, you want to know how I come to be poor?"

Ginny cringed at the word. This wasn't poor. This was something far beyond poor.

"Well, my daddy gambled all our money away. Mum brought us all up on her own, 'cause dad moved on after that. That's how I come to be poor, Miss Weasley."

"It's Mrs. Potter, actually, but you can call me Ginny."

"All right, Ginny."

Ginny braced herself for these next few questions. When she had asked Mrs. Johnston, the woman had answered calmly and truthfully, but Rebecca was something else entirely. While poverty had broken her mother, it has made Rebecca angry.

"Did you know you were … poor while you were growing up?"

Rebecca made a face. "'Course I did. Who don't know they're poor?"

_We'll get another broomstick later_, George's voice said, as he held an old broomstick with a broken handle. _Fred, go get some __Spellotape__ from the kitchen. Ron, hold it just like this._

_Is this going to work?_ Ginny's young voice demanded. _I don't think it's going to work!_

_Spellotape__ fixes everything_, Ron answered. _Dad told us so. That's why Bill and Charlie fix their books with __Spellotape__, because there's nothing stronger on earth, not even the glue that they bind new books with._

"Did you have dreams of becoming rich?" Ginny asked, trying to force the memories away for the moment.

Rebecca nodded, but not enthusiastically. "Sure. Doesn't everyone who's poor? But then I grew up and found out that becoming rich ain't as easy as some people think. I just learned how to keep on being poor."

"But Mug—many people," Ginny recovered, "who are poor get education to get better jobs, right? Did you think about attending university?"

Rebecca blinked at Ginny, like the two women had never met before. The other woman sighed deeply and shook her head sadly.

"Wow, Ginny. I didn't realize … I just can't … Wow. You really have no idea what it's like to be poor, do you?"

_No, Dad!_ Ginny, age eleven, shouted desperately. _ Not the new books! You have to get me old books so I can mend them with __Spellotape__ and they never fall apart!_

Only now, so many years later, did Ginny understand that the tears in her father's eyes had not been from laughter as he'd put the brand new Potions book back on the shelf.

"I'm afraid I don't. Will you explain it to me?"

Rebecca looked at her kids for a moment, and then turned back to Ginny. There was no mirth on her face now and no scorn that Ginny didn't understand what Rebecca at the moment. There was a hollowness in the other woman's eyes.

"You say I might have gotten more education? I ask you, how? Don't tell me scholarships and all that rubbish, either. I couldn't have gotten none of it. I didn't have good enough grades. Why didn't I study? Yeah, I know you'll ask that. You want to know why?"

Ginny nodded.

"Because, Ginny, my mum didn't have enough money to pay the rent, so I had to get a job and help her, otherwise I would have had no place to live. I couldn't study more, because I didn't have no time to study more. And even if I could have, who would have helped me? Teachers don't care nothing for kids like me. I couldn't pass my tests, so they sat me in the back of the room and gave me marks just high enough to get me to the next grade and out of their class."

Ginny didn't know what to say. She had gone to Hogwarts, where Professor McGonagall saw to the educational needs of each Gryffindor personally. Many times teacher assigned extra homework for the students who weren't learning the material. Professor Flitwick was known to sit with students for hours and help them learn a Charm.

"So, after you left school, what did you do?"

Rebecca smiled darkly. "I got myself a job wherever my 3 O-Levels would get me one, didn't I? I went to work at Marty's, the pub down the corner, as a barmaid."

"And when did you have the twins?" Ginny asked.

"Six months later," Rebecca answered. "Their dad had already gone off to Uni. He was real clever, he was. But he got himself into a right lot of trouble there. Too much drinking, not enough going to class, you know what I mean? He didn't last. I think he works at a train station now or something. But he don't send me no money for them, of course. He's got nothing to send me."

Ginny felt distain rising in her stomach. Her dad always told her she was too quick to judge, but she couldn't help it. The whole situation seemed … overblown. Everyone had a chance to better themselves.

"The government has programs to help, don't they?"

Rebecca snorted derisively. "The government? I don't know nothing about the government. Mum says with the Tories in Parliament we not getting any help. You don't work for the Tories, do you?"

Ginny shook her head. "I work for the Prime Minister."

The other woman looked suspicious. "He a Tory?"

"Wait. You don't even know that the Prime Minister is in the Labour Party?"

Ginny was baffled. She was a witch and she knew which party the Prime Minister belonged to!

"I ain't got time for politics, Ginny!" Rebecca burst out. "I've got four mouths to feed and a ten-hour shift in the Tube, yeah? I got more important things on my mind at the moment."

"But if you don't get involved, I mean, if you don't vote, then you can't blame the government—"

"Like Hell I can't! They're my government, whether I voted for them or not! Am I a British citizen or am I a British citizen! I pay my taxes. I don't break the law. They're my government, and they got a responsibility to us. They promised us, all of us here in Number 23, that they'd help us if they got elected. Well, they got elected, but they didn't help a single one of us!"

Ginny shook her head. "Well, not if you don't vote."

"I ain't got time to vote!" Rebecca cried. She motioned wildly around the room. "I've got four kids, Ginny. In twenty minutes, when mum gets home, I'm going to take tokens in the Underground. When I got off work tomorrow morning, I'm going to buy food for my kids. After that, I've got to come back here and clean so that rats and vermin don't come in through the gaping holes in our floorboards that the landlord won't fix! I might get to sleep for two hours, if I'm lucky. And between all this, you think I got time to go vote for some politician who ain't even going to remember that there's a Concrete Jungle in London, full of people like me, who were too busy trying to figure out how to survive to go vote for him!"

Ginny sat motionless. Another voice echoed through her head, and although it sounded remarkably like Rebecca's, it made Ginny want to smile rather than cry.

_As if I don't have enough work to do, __Ginerva__ Molly __Weasley_ Mum shouted. _I've got you tracking mud all through the house because you like the rain. I've got to finish this cake before your father gets home or his birthday dinner will be ruined! Oh, and there go Fred and George again, jumping around like a pair of monkeys. _And what is Percy doing hanging out the window!_ Charlie, Bill I swear to Merlin if you're dangling your brother out the third floor window again …_

"I didn't make my sorry situation, Ginny," Rebecca said, more calmly. "It was handed to me and I did whatever I could with it. Maybe I made some bad decisions, but I reckon the rich kids do too. Except they've got a pocket full of money or an important name to help them out. If I was a rich girl, do you think my teachers would have put in the back of the class? Do you think Reggie would have dared leave me with infant twins? Do you think the government would ignore me?"

Ginny looked down. The answer was, quite simply: No.

"I think that'll be all for now," she said quietly, standing up. "You've given me all the information I need."

"So, when do we get compensation?" Rebecca demanded.

"Excuse me?"

"You work for the Parliament, yeah? We answered all your questions for your statistics or whatever you're doing. People get paid for that."

Ginny felt the overwhelming sense of misery wash over her again. The part of her brain that Tom Riddle had infected squirmed with glee, and it took every ounce of her strength to push away the despair that threatened to engulf her.

Rebecca Johnston and her mother hadn't agreed to talk to Ginny to expose a corrupt and prejudiced society. They just wanted some money to pay their bills and fill the kid's mouths for another week. Ginny thought of Hermione, boldly fighting for elfish welfare when no one else seemed to care. Is this how Hermione felt every time a house-elf refused clothes? The cycle of poverty seemed just as cruel as slavery to Ginny. And it was slavery, just a different kind.

"I have it here with me now," Ginny lied.

She hadn't brought anything with her, so she couldn't feign pulling something out of a bag or briefcase. Tonks had suggested she come to Number 23 as plainly as possible, and that's what she had done. Zacharias Smith was going to kill her for this. Last time it had been a defensive spell, and Ginny had been protected from punishment by the need for self-protection. This wasn't going to be anything of the sort.

Rebecca started when Ginny revealed the wand hidden up her sleeve. The woman didn't know how to react when Ginny produced a pile of perfect cut and polished diamonds, rubies, and sapphires.

"You take these to a jeweler," Ginny explained. "Tell them they're your grandmother's old pieces. You'll get a nice price for them."

Twenty minutes later, Rebecca was sitting on her couch, a dazed expression on her face. The flat was empty, but a pile of gems had appeared on her kitchen table. She couldn't remember where they had come from, except that maybe they belonged to her grandmother.

Ginny was already back at the Ministry of Magic, leaving Zacharias Smith's office in a bad temper. She hated the man on a good day. He had just spent a quarter of an hour lecturing her about improper use of magic and the possibility of bringing charges against her. Ginny had reminded him of a broomstick and destroyed commentator's box. He wisely decided to drop the subject.

"How did it go?" Ron asked, stopping by her office an hour later.

Ginny closed the file-folder containing all of her notes on the Johnston family. With a sigh, she moved over to the filing cabinet and thumbed through the tabs.

"Horrible, like always."

Ron looked at the floor and nodded slowly. "I don't know a single Unspeakable who likes every part of their job. Look, I talked to some people while you were gone. You don't have to go to Number 23 anymore, Ginny. We're going to get someone else to take care of that."

She looked at her brother, gauging his expression. Ron had a lot of influence in the Department of Mysteries, but not enough to take her off a job like this. Patterson had recruited her specifically for this subject.

"But, Ron, you can't … I mean, how?"

"I just … called in a favor, that's all."

Ginny knew what that meant, and it made her smile even while tears welled up in her eyes. Ron had broken down and talked to Percy, who talked to Patterson Vaire about giving Ginny a little time off from a tough assignment.

"He was glad to help you, Ginny. Even if he wasn't happy to hear from me."

"He's such a git," she said, but without any anger.

Regardless of how she got it, she needed this time away from Number 23. Now that Percy had paid Ron back, maybe their family would go back to maintaining a carefully controlled civility. They would all be a little less rude to Percy next time they saw him, if only because he had helped Ginny.

"Hermione is expecting me," Ron said tentatively. "If you want to talk or anything …"

"Go, Ron. You're my brother and Hermione is my best friend, but even that doesn't give me permission to crash an anniversary."

"All right. Tell Harry I said hello and that I'll meet him tomorrow for Quidditch."

"Like Harry would forget your weekly Quidditch match."

"You coming?"

"In a minute," Ginny answered. "There's no need to wait on me. I've still got to put my memories in the Pensieve for Sharpe and Kennedy to look through tomorrow morning."

After Ron had left and Ginny had taken several long, silvery threads from her mind, she placed the Pensieve on a high shelf. Kennedy would know where to look in the morning. With a final glance around the office, Ginny shut the bottom drawer on the filing cabinet. As she left, the brass plate on her door glittered in the dim light, as if reminding her of everything she had just gone through.

_Ginny Potter_

_Department of Mysteries_

_Office of the Study of Survival Instinct _

**The End**** for some,**

**The Unending ****Struggle ****for others.**

Author's Epilogue:

Poverty is not simply the lack of money. It is the crushing weight of worry and loss of dignity caused by not having even the most basic needs met. Poverty is all around us. It is not something that happens only in third-world countries. The United States, a country that calls itself the Leader of the Free World, has a staggering number of homeless and working poor. Even Welfare States such as Great Britain are not immune to poverty.

If you are on the Internet, chances are you are not impoverished. Before we judge people less fortunate than ourselves, take a moment to consider why they are less fortunate. Very few people in this world decide to get a bad education or ask their family to abandon them. A bad choice at a young age does not mean someone deserves poverty.

The people who are living in poverty cannot speak for themselves. They may not have the knowledge to contact their political representative or the ability to become politically active. Many people must work three jobs to feed their family. Those of us who are fortunate enough to work eight hours a day have the ability to speak for those who cannot speak for themselves.

If you were moved at all by this story, I ask you to find a little Hufflepuff kindness, Gryffindor justice, Ravenclaw wit, and Slytherin determination to make this world a better place for someone other than yourself.


End file.
